Such a Delicate Thing
by el spirito
Summary: Roger and RJ are on a camping trip, which means it's up to Riggs to help Trish when a dangerous situation arises. Of course, Trish ends up helping Riggs, too. Featuring canon-typical violence, Riggs/Trish bonding because let's be real, Riggs just needs a hug, and some blood/descriptions of injury.
1. Chapter 1

"Love is such a delicate thing that we do." -Simple Song, the Shins

A/N: These dorks belong to Fox, and I just can't seem to get them out of my head.

Riggs stood with his hands on his hips, curly hair askew and shirt predictably untucked as Murtaugh slapped handcuffs on their latest perp, shoving him toward the back of the squad with a little more force than was probably strictly necessary.

"Sit your ass down in there," Roger barked, putting on hand on the back of the man's head and helping him duck into the car. "And I don't want to hear one more smart-ass comment from you, you get me?"

The perp grumbled something in response and Murtaugh slammed the door shut, rolling his eyes in disgust and shaking his head as he approached Riggs.

"Glad it's a Friday?" Martin said. Roger let out a huff and shook his head.

"You have no idea," Murtaugh answered.

"Actually –"

"No, I know, you actually do have an idea," Murtaugh said. "It's just been a shit week and I am more than ready for a break."

"Oh yeah, family camping trip this weekend, right?"

"Well, not anymore," Roger said. They slid into his car and headed toward the station. "Riana wasn't really into the whole thing and Trish had something last minute come up at work, so it's just gonna be me and RJ."

"Ah, some nice father-son bonding time, huh?"

"Yeah, and I think the girls are going to get Riana some new basketball shoes and then get their nails done, so it was probably a win-win."

"Sounds great."

"Yeah." Roger shifted a little bit and threw Riggs one of those concerned looks he always seemed to throw Martin's way. "Are you doing anything – well, not fun, probably, but at least not self-destructive?"

Martin shrugged. "Not particularly. Probably the usual. Drinking, sleeping, drinking some more, you know, just living it up."

Murtaugh shifted some more and Riggs waited for the admonishment he knew was coming, but his partner remained quiet. Finally he spoke without turning to look at Martin.

"You could, uh, you could come along if you wanted to."

"Oh, no Rog, I couldn't do that."

"Well I thought I would just throw it out there."

"Yeah, that was very sweet of you."

"It was, wasn't it? Trish is going to be so proud. All kinds of brownie points right there."

Martin let out a half-hearted chuckle as they pulled up to the station. He climbed out of Roger's car and headed for his truck, feeling that slight sinking feeling he always got at the end of a shift with only his trailer to look forward to.

"Hey, Riggs."

He stopped and turned around; Murtaugh was standing with one leg inside the car, leaning on the door. "Don't do anything stupid this weekend, huh?"

Martin smiled in spite of himself. "Course not. See you Monday, huh Rog?"

"See you later Riggs."

Xxxx"

Riggs went straight to the beach, grabbed a beer, kicked off his boots, and sat on the sand. It was pleasantly warm and the waves, as always, were about as soothing as anything could be at this point. Miranda loved this damn beach; they came here every time they visited LA, Miranda in a sundress with her hair blowing in the wind, laughing as she splashed him and then ran. She had been determined that their baby would love the ocean as much as she did, already had a pack of Little Swimmers tucked under the crib –

Martin shook his head with a low growl and took a long gulp of his beer, ran a hand through his hair and tried to refocus as the pang of loss slammed into him once again. He swore under his breath and shook his head again. He didn't know why he did this to himself, got lost in this cycle of constantly reminding himself of Miranda and of the future they would never have together and then feeling shitty about it. If he could just –

His phone buzzed and he startled, fumbling in his pocket to find it and failing to answer before the call dropped. It buzzed again not three seconds later and this time he brought it to his ear and answered without even looking at who was calling.

"Riggs," he said. Cruz's voice erupted across the line.

"Riggs, thank God, we've got some serious trouble man, one of my CIs told me that his boss is pissed because Mrs. Murtaugh defended the man who killed his son and so he hired a hit man and they're supposed to go tonight -–"

"Whoa, back it up Cruz, take a breath and tell me from the beginning okay?" Even as he spoke

Riggs was getting up, grabbing his weapon and his backup weapon and already getting into his car.

Cruz took a deep breath and started from the beginning. Riggs swore and drove faster.

xxxx

Trish stood at the microwave as the last few kernels of popcorn exploded, then poured it into a bowl and took it over to the couch. Harper was finally asleep and Riana actually seemed to be excited to spend some time with her mother for once, so Trish was feeling pretty good –- not to mention grateful for the camping trip that allowed for a girl's night.

"Did you decide on a movie yet?"

Riana held up two movies, _Alien_ and _Jane Eyre_. "Are we feeling action or romance?"

"Mmm," Trish hummed, raising an eyebrow. "I'm always in the mood to watch Ripley kick some ass."

Riana grinned and popped the movie into the player, then settled next to Trish with the bowl in between them. Thirty seconds later, there was a pounding at the door and the unmistakable voice of Martin Riggs.

"Want me to pause?" Riana asked.

"Don't worry about it baby, I'll just go see what he wants." Trish headed to the door, growing more than a little concerned as Riggs' knocking continued and grew even more frantic. She opened the door, ready to lay into him for frightening her, but drew up short as soon as she saw Martin's face.

"Riggs, what the hell –"

"Trish, listen to me, you're in danger. I don't have time to explain, but you and your girls need to get upstairs right now."

"Mom?" Riana's voice was tight, high and terrified in a way that Trish had never heard before.

"Martin?"

He stared at her, disconcertingly earnest. "Trish, please –"

"Right. Upstairs right now, Riana. Get Harper from her crib and get in the closet in our room. We'll be right behind you."

Riana scrambled up the stairs, breathing already starting to hitch with sobs, and Riggs shouldered into the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it, then starting to shove the couch toward it. Trish got behind the other side of the couch and helped push it against the door, fear and adrenaline already quickening her heart rate even as she tried to quell the panic she felt rising.

"Martin?"

"There's a hit out on you," he said, breathless and with an air of focused frenzy to him. She'd never seen him like this before. "I'm here to stop it. Backup's on the way, but you need to go upstairs. Now."

He glanced out the window and swore under his breath. "Now Trish, they're here."

Trish took a deep breath and clenched her fists to hide their shaking. "Martin -"

He took a step forward and clasped her hands between his. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you or your girls, okay?" Something cold and metal was slipped into her hands and she gasped, looking down at the gun he was pressing her fingers around. "Take this. Anybody gets past me, you shoot 'em. Don't let anyone into that closet. Now go!"

Trish wrapped her fingers around the gun and nodded, running up the stairs and clambering into the closet, slamming the door after her. Riana had Harper clutched in her arms and was crying softly, shaking with fear. Trish wanted nothing more than to hug both of her daughters and to tell them everything would be okay, but now was the time for strength. The comfort would come later. She stood in front of them with the gun in her hand, legs shoulder-width apart like Roger taught her.

Oh, God, Roger. He would be in an absolute panic, driving back at a frantic pace, and what if he got into an accident on the way -

Gunshots interrupted her spiral into panic and she jolted at the noise. Behind her, Harper started crying and Riana's sobs increased in volume.

"Mom, I'm scared," Riana gasped, voice wobbling and slipping.

"I know baby, me too," Trish said. "But I am not going to let anything happen to you, okay? And neither is Martin."

A few more gunshots and then crashes, glass breaking and wood splintering. She pictured what was happening, vases and dishes being used as weapons, tables cracking under the weight of men being thrown. What the hell was happening down there?

A few moments later - that seemed to stretch into eternities - she could hear footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming into the room. Trish's bedroom door creaked as someone opened it, and it thumped gently as the door hit the wall. Riana stifled a sob and tried to shush Harper through her own tears, and Trish brought the gun up in front of her, pulled the hammer back and held it firmly with both hands.

"Trish? 'S me."

Trish exhaled suddenly, tears pricking at her eyes and hands suddenly losing feeling. She managed to put the safety on the gun and put it on the floor with trembling hands.

"Martin? Oh, thank God I was so worried -"

She wrenched the door open, suddenly desperate for fresh air, and stopped dead at the sight in front of her. Martin was standing, but barely, leaning to one side so sharply that she was surprised he hadn't keeled over already. Blood flowed down from a few cuts on his face, and he had a hand clasped over the left side of his ribcage, blood already squeezing between his fingers.

"Trish, you - you're okay?"

She hurried forward, tried to steer him toward the bed. "We're okay, we're fine, we're all okay," she said, and then Riggs seemed to just fold in on himself, strength leaving him from the feet up.

"Martin!" she gasped, not quick enough to slow his descent. He landed in a crumpled heap, limbs askew, and she rolled him onto his back with a grunt.

"Mom?" Riana asked, finally emerging from the closet, Harper clasped to her chest. "Oh no, Mom, he's -"

"You need to call 911, Ri, right now. Do it!. And when you're done with that grab a towel from the linen closet." Riana scrambled to do as she ordered, and Trish turned her attention back to the man bleeding on the floor.

"Hey Martin, you did so good baby," she said, pressing on the wound still pulsing blood and trying very hard not to panic. "But you need to stay here, okay? Stay here Riggs." He was nearly still under her hands, face colorless and chest rising in shallow heaves. His eyes were already losing focus.

"Mom, here," Riana said, and Trish suddenly became aware of a towel right in front of her face.

Trish took it wordlessly and pressed it to Martin's chest, praying under her breath. Harper was no longer crying, and Riana set her down in the playpen that occupied one corner of the room, then grabbed pillows off of the bed.

"I think he's going into shock," she said, her voice remarkably steady as she tucked the pillows beneath Martin's legs. "My first-aid class said this would help."

"Good thinking," Trish murmured, pressing harder as Martin choked a little, then gasped. His breathing suddenly became much worse than before and his lips started to change from pale to blue. "Riggs, you stay with me, you hear? I am not telling Roger that you got yourself killed! Please," she added, almost as a whisper. Roger had told her what had happened that first night with the sniper, what Riggs had said.

" _I miss my girl."_

She hadn't even been there, but those words had haunted her ever since. Now, feeling Martin begin to go boneless beneath her hands, they echoed over and over, mocking her. _I miss my girl._

"Mom, they're here," Riana said. "I'm gonna go tell them where we are."

Trish nodded numbly, staring at Martin's lax face. He was barely breathing now, and though his eyes were open it was clear he wasn't seeing her. "Martin," she said, loosening the pressure on his wound to cup his cheeks, blood smearing across his face. "Martin, look at me!" He did, finally, eyes sliding to make contact with hers, glazed and full of pain, but more aware than they had been.

"Martin Riggs, stay with me," she said. "She doesn't get you, not yet. We still need you here. Do you hear me? We still need you."

He didn't answer and his eyes slid closed as paramedics and police officers rushed into the room, Riana hot on their heels.

"Mrs. Murtaugh, we're here now, you're okay," someone said, and she blinked, surprised to look up and see the familiar face of Bailey.

"Bailey?" she whispered, sniffling. Cruz was right behind her, kneeling at Martin's head, awkwardly running a hand through the other man's curls. One paramedic was hooking Riggs up to an EKG machine and slipping a blood pressure cuff around his arm as the other radioed in to the hospital, relaying vitals and nodding at the orders they received.

They secured a piece of plastic over the wound, which Trish had up until that point avoided looking at; it was surprisingly small, really, but still cruel and scary as hell, raw and red.

"What's happening?" she asked, only half aware that she was speaking. "What's happening?"

"Ma'am, he's been shot through the lung. He has a sucking chest wound, so we've covered it with a plastic dressing and we're inserting a needle to release some of the air built up in his chest cavity. As soon as that's done we're taking him directly to the nearest trauma center."

The medic who wasn't speaking to her tilted Martin's chin back and pressed a mask over his face, squeezing a bag rhythmically to help him breathe. Everything seemed to move in slow motion: Martin was shifted onto a stretcher, bloodied gloves leaving smears on his chest and face, and there was a pool of blood on the carpet. One of Martin's hands dangled limply from the stretcher before it was tucked neatly up next to his body, and then he was gone.

Trish didn't even have time to grab a trash can before she was vomiting.

"It's okay, Mrs. M," someone - Cruz - said, patting her back. She puked until there was nothing left, then looked up at her daughters, Harper in Bailey's arms, cooing and babbling like nothing had happened, Riana tucked into Bailey's side, eyes red and swollen with crying.

"C'mere baby," Trish whispered. Riana launched herself off the bed and into Trish's arms, and they stayed like that, curled together and crying, for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive back to LA was tense, to say the least. Roger clutched the steering wheel with a desperate, white-knuckled grip and RJ sat stiffly in the passenger seat, throwing periodic glances his father's way, his hands clasped in his lap. It had been a harried, abrupt flight from the campsite as soon as Bailey had called and explained the situation, and Murtaugh could hardly contain the panic and anxiety welling up within him; he half expected to have another damn heart attack. Bailey had reassured him that Riggs was on his way to the house even before backup had been called, so it was possible he had been there if there had already been an attack.

It was also possible he hadn't made it on time.

"Dad?" RJ said, voice thin and reedy. "Do you think…" He trailed off and then sniffled. Roger spared him a glance and was unsurprised when he brought a hand up to wipe at his nose.

"Hey, we don't know anything yet, so we just gotta stay calm, right?" He clapped a hand on RJ's knee and squeezed. "We just gotta stay calm."

Thirty seconds later, the phone rang and Roger snatched it up.

"Talk to me," he said, heart pounding.

"They're okay," Bailey said, and Murtaugh stopped the car and pulled over, tears welling in his own eyes as relief washed over him like a tide of cool water.

"They're alright, RJ," he said, grinning when RJ let out a whoop of joy.

"But, uh, Riggs is on his way to the hospital."

Roger's smile faded. "What happened?"

"Took a round to the chest. It's, uh, it looks pretty serious. Paramedics didn't say much, but they think it might have hit his lung."

 _Shit._

"Okay. Shit. Okay."

"Trish and the girls are also heading to the hospital, just to get checked out; your house is kind of a mess right now. We tried to keep your family from seeing, but there were five bodies in the front room."

Involuntarily, Murtaugh raised his eyebrows, his surprise stealing his voice. A moment later he managed, "Riggs took out five people?"

"And a sixth was also taken to the hospital. They expect him to survive."

Roger shook his head and whistled. "Okay. So I just head to the hospital and everybody's gonna be there, right?"

"Right."

"And Riggs is still gonna be there too, right?"

It slipped out before he could help it and Bailey hesitated. Murtaugh could picture her frowning, not wanting to give false hope but not wanting to be a pessimist, either.

"Dad? What happened to Riggs?" RJ asked, leaning over the center console to try to better hear Roger's conversation.

Roger held a hand up in a "hang on a second" gesture and waited for Bailey.

"It looked pretty bad, sir, but he's tough. And crazy. He'll be alright."

Murtaugh sighed and nodded, chewed on his lip for a second. Martin was tough, and crazy, but he also kind of had a death wish. Roger wasn't sure which side of his partner would win out this time, and it was more than a little concerning.

"Okay. We'll be in soon. Thanks, Bailey."

He hung up but just sat for a minute, unwilling to face RJ just yet. He knew how much Martin had grown to mean to his kids, RJ in particular, and that he had been injured protecting Trish just compounded the whole thing.

"Dad?"

"Your mom and sisters are okay."

"You said that already."

Murtaugh exhaled. "I know. Riggs was there, protected them."

"Is he dead?" RJ's voice cracked on the last word and Roger turned to face him.

"No, RJ. He's hurt, and it's not good, but he's still alive. And it's gonna stay that way, if I can help it."

RJ nodded and looked down; Roger recognized it as an attempt to hide tears and cupped the back of RJ's head, turning his son to face him.

"Today's been all sorts of crazy, so you just let it out if you need to, okay? Don't worry about it. He's gonna be alright."

RJ sniffled and nodded again, so Roger turned back to the road, blinking back tears of his own.

xxxx

Bailey was helping Murtaugh's wife and children, so Cruz decided that he would follow the ambulance in to the hospital. It had been more than a little shocking to watch Riggs, covered in blood and pale and so damn quiet, be loaded up into an ambulance by paramedics who made it clear that time was of the essence. It wasn't the first time Cruz had seen someone he cared about hurt like that, not by a long shot.

It _was_ the first time he was responsible for it, though.

As he pulled into a parking spot and watched Riggs get unloaded, someone squeezing a bag over his head just so he could breathe, Cruz's stomach dropped, a gnawing empty feeling growing .

He followed the stretcher into the emergency room and then into a smaller room where there were people waiting to work on Riggs. They shifted Riggs onto a second stretcher and the paramedics rattled off some numbers as doctors started inspecting the wound.

"Sir? I'm sorry, but you can't be here," a nurse said, voice firm. Cruz looked down at her, slightly surprised, and shook his head.

"He's a detective," Cruz said, "and he was attacked tonight. I'm not going to let it happen again."

The nurse must have dealt with law enforcement before, or Riggs was in really bad shape, because she didn't even try to argue with him.

"Fine. But you stand to the side of that curtain, and you stay out of the way. Got it?"

"Yeah," Cruz said. The scene around Riggs seemed to be one of order rather than chaos, nothing like what they showed on TV. One doctor would calmly rattle off some letters and everyone else would immediately get to it, and they rolled Riggs over to look at his back with practiced ease. Cruz turned and stood in the doorway with his back to the quiet commotion taking place behind him, arms folded and body tense. He doubted anyone would try anything in the hospital, but he would be ready for it if they did.

"How's he doing?" Bailey asked, coming up next to him. Cruz blinked and looked at her, then shrugged.

"Don't know," he said. Bailey pursed her lips, turning her mouth into a flat line, then nodded.

"How are you doing?"

Cruz shrugged again. "Been better," he said. "Been worse, too."

"Yeah," Bailey said, sighing and crossing her arms. "I can relate to that."

For a few moments they stood there, side by side, ostensibly to protect the vulnerable man behind them, but partially just to reassure themselves that he was still alive.

"Excuse me detectives, we're going to need you to move. We're transferring him up to surgery now." It was the same nurse who had talked to Cruz before.

"Surgery?" Cruz said.

The nurse nodded. "He's still bleeding enough that the doctors are concerned something vital could have been nicked, so they're going to go in and patch up whatever needs patching."

Cruz felt his heartrate pick up a notch. "What's your security like up there?" he asked, nervously licking his lips. "He'll be safe?"

The nurse exhaled sharply and put a hand on Cruz's arm. "Detective, I can't promise you anything, but he's got a better chance in that operating room than anywhere else in the world. We'll look after him. Okay?"

Cruz nodded, feeling numb, as they wheeled Riggs' stretcher past him. There was red-stained gauze on his chest and they'd intubated him, and he was white from blood loss; he looked like shit. It had been a long time since Cruz had gone to church with his mother, but he found old familiar prayers coming easily to his lips as he watched Riggs disappear in the elevator.

"Well," Bailey said a minute later. "Now what?"

xxxx

Avery met Roger as soon as he walked into the hospital, which was pretty impressive and slightly scary, but Roger was too preoccupied to say much about it. Riggs would have drawn attention to it and probably cracked some terrible joke, and Avery would have rolled his eyes and ignored it, and everything would have felt refreshingly normal.

Instead, Avery looked at Murtaugh with a sympathetic face and seemed half like he wants to give Roger a hug and half like he wanted to keep his distance.

"Where are they? How's Riggs?"

"They're in a family waiting area on the third floor," Avery said, already walking to the elevator. Roger gestured at RJ to follow them. "They stabilized Riggs enough in the ER to send him up to surgery, which is where he's been for the last hour."

The elevator doors closed on them and Murtaugh swallowed thickly.

"They're pretty shaken up, Roger. It was… uh, it was a grisly scene. We've got forensics working on it right now, but you'd better plan on staying in a hotel for the next few days."

Roger nodded; he'd seen this same thing over and over as a detective, but it was unsettling and surreal and just felt so damn _wrong_ to have it happening to him, and his family, and his house.

The elevator pinged open and RJ stepped out; Avery stopped Roger with a hand to his arm then spoke in a low voice.

"They're pretty worried about him, Murtaugh," he said. "He's got a hemopneumothorax and lost a hell of a lot of blood. They're operating on him now to fix his lung and possibly a damaged vein or artery."

"Okay," Roger said, running a hand over his head before bending over, hands on his knees. "Okay. Holy shit. Okay." He looked up at Avery and shook his head, trying and failing to formulate words.

"It's okay, Murtaugh," Avery said, sounding about as sympathetic as Roger had ever heard him. "It's been a hell of a day. Go see to your family. We'll look out for Riggs until you can."

Murtaugh straightened up and nodded, looking to where RJ had been standing with Bailey, a concerned look on his face.

"Dad?" RJ said as soon as they made eye contact.

"Let's go see your mom and sisters, huh?" He drew up next to RJ and tugged him into his side, wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"This way," Bailey said. Roger went to follow her and was surprised when RJ resisted, standing his ground.

"RJ?"

"What about Riggs?"

Roger smiled half-heartedly, once again surprised by how completely his kids had fallen for his crazy, mustachioed partner, and kissed the top of RJ's head. "We'll see him too, don't worry about that."

He would make damn sure of it.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long! Life got crazy, and I maybe forgot about a holiday fic exchange in another fandom I signed up for ages ago, so... Anyway, at long last, the next chapter! Hope you enjoy. Also, pardon any blaring medical mistakes - I do as much research as I can, but then I still have to BS it and hope it sounds somewhat reasonable. :)

Also, thank you for the reviews and the gentle nudges to keep writing! I appreciate them all.

xxxx

The family waiting room they'd put Trish and the girls in was quiet, its walls painted a drab, generic green, a few parenting magazines from the year before scattered around. Trish and Riana had commandeered the comfiest looking couch, and now Riana was sleeping fitfully, tucked into Trish's side, and Harper was sleeping on Trish's legs with her arms flung out above her head.

Every so often Bailey or Cruz would pop in to make sure they were doing okay; it had been Bailey who got them juice to help their blood sugar after the inevitable adrenaline crash, Cruz who had gently told them what he knew about Riggs' condition. And now it was Trish who waited for her husband, waited for word on the man who had saved her family, and tried to forget how hard it had been to scrub Riggs' blood from her hands. Trish sighed and blinked back tears for what felt like the hundredth time. Damn, she hadn't felt this emotional since it was Roger that she was waiting for.

That thought, of course, made her choke up even more, so she pressed her head to Riana's and tried to ride it out the best she could. Only a few moments had passed before she heard movement outside and then RJ was rushing in, hugging her tightly before sitting next to Ri. Harper woke with a startled cry and Trish stood, comforting her daughter automatically and staring at the door with tears in her eyes. She let out a sob when Roger walked in and before she was even aware of moving his arms were wrapped around her, Harper tucked between them, and Trish was crying - again - with her face pressed into his shoulder.

"Shh," he whispered. "I'm here." His hand pressed heavy and solid against the back of her head and she felt herself relax, at ease in a way that only Roger could make her.

"I love you," she mumbled into his shirt. "And I was so damn _scared_ I would never see you again."

"Shh," he repeated and let out that low squeak he always made when he was trying to hold his emotions in. Harper squirmed between them and let out a whimper, the kind that foretold imminent screaming. "C'mere baby girl," Roger said, holding his arms out. Trish handed the baby over with no small measure of relief, as if the burden she had been holding all night, literally standing between her children and danger, was finally released.

Trish walked back to the couch and sat down next to RJ, unsurprised when Riana scrambled to her other side.

There was a knock on the doorframe and Avery walked in, face as drawn as Trish had ever seen it. She was suddenly cognizant of the fact that he had probably been right outside during their little reunion and heard the whole thing, but she was grateful that he had given them space.

"How are you guys holding up?" Avery asked, pulling a chair up so that it was facing the couch.

"Better now," Roger said. It was the truth, of course, but now that the immediate relief had passed, Trish realized that Riana and RJ were looking exhausted, and Harper was squirmy and starting to get fussy. They needed to sleep.

"I'm thinking you'll be wanting to settle down somewhere for the night, so you can get some sleep," Avery said. "We'll have officers there, of course, until we know for sure that the threat against you has been neutralized, so for now we'll set you up in a safehouse. I know it's not optimal, considering the night you've had, but even if your house was secure it's a crime scene, so that's the best we can do for now."

Trish sighed and nodded. "I understand, and I'm grateful for your help, Captain. I think sleep is exactly what these kiddos need right now."

Roger nodded next to her, but years of experience -not to mention having somewhat conflicted feelings of her own - meant that she could easily see that he had some concerns. She was pretty sure she knew what they were, too.

"You can stay here," she said quietly, squeezing his knee. "We'll be alright." He shook his head and his lips thinned in displeasure; he was gearing up for a rant, probably a slightly hysterical one.

"Roger, he's gonna need someone and we both know that should be you. I would tell you if we couldn't handle this. You know that, right? You know that I would tell you."

Roger exhaled loudly and nodded. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Okay. Captain, how's it looking at the safehouse right now?"

Avery gave him a tight nod. "We're looking good, Murtaugh. Bailey has volunteered to help your family get situated and take the first shift, and Cruz is going back to the station to help track down the people responsible for the attack on your house tonight. As soon as you're ready to go we can escort you over there."

Trish gently pulled Roger's head forward until their foreheads touched. "I'm okay," she whispered. "The girls are okay. We're all going to be fine. Now go make sure that partner of yours is okay too."

xxxx

Cahill came in maybe an hour into Roger's vigil, hair thrown up into a messy bun, wearing large glasses and sweatpants and looking generally about as disheveled as he had ever seen her. She also came bearing two cups of coffee, one of which she handed to him as she sat down in the chair next to him and sighed heavily.

"How are you holding up?"

Roger took a sip of the coffee before shrugging. "Oh, you know. Family got threatened, partner got shot, it's been a great day." He didn't need to look at her to know what face she was making, that expression somewhere between compassion and concern, with just a sprinkle of consternation. "It sucks, but I guess I'm holding up about as well as I could be," he said finally.

"Sounds about right," Cahill said. "Have you heard anything yet?"

"Not since he went into surgery."

"Damn."

"Yeah." Roger took another drink of the coffee, feeling slightly more awake. "What'd the captain tell you?"

"Someone attacked your house. Riggs stopped them but took a bullet."

"Yep, that about sums it up," Roger said.

"Pretty intense."

"Yeah, you're telling me. I've got like, ten pools of blood scattered around my house, and my family's in hiding." He hesitated a minute before adding, "Plus my partner's got a bullet in his chest and he's _already_ half suicidal on a good day, so that's, you know, not very reassuring."

Maureen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and interlocking her fingers beneath her chin. "You've been good for him," she said finally. "You and your family. I think - I hope - you've given him a reason to try."

"I hope so. I'll kick his damn ass if not." Roger shook his head and aimed a half-smile at Cahill. "He's annoying as hell, and crazy to boot, but he has a way of growing on you."

Maureen laughed aloud at that and nodded. "Yeah, you're telling me," she said. "I've dealt with a lot in my time with LAPD, but Riggs is certainly one of a kind."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Ronnie Delgado, of all people. Roger glanced up at him and did a double take, then frowned. It wasn't uncommon for members of the police force to hold a vigil for wounded officers and detectives, of course, and there were a few officers scattered throughout the waiting room for Riggs, but he couldn't remember a single time the district attorney had dropped by.

"Mr. Delgado, uh, hi," he said finally, blinking. He stood and went to hold his hand out, before realizing that he was still holding his coffee cup. Damn, but he needed a nap.

"Detective Murtaugh," Delgado said, shaking Murtaugh's newly freed hand. "How is he?" The older man didn't even attempt a smile, and his face looked pinched with what Roger realized was probably concern.

"Still in surgery," he said. "Do you - I mean, I just -" He was saved from further floundering by Maureen, who came up to stand beside him.

"Mr. Delgado, it's good to see you again. I only wish it could be under better circumstances."

Delgado shook her hand. "I feel the same way, Dr. Cahill."

Cahill, probably noticing Roger's growing confusion, sighed and offered him a sad smile. "I take it Riggs hasn't told you yet. Mr. Delgado is his father in law."

Roger blinked. "You mean - you're - you're Miranda's dad," he said. Delgado nodded once, lips drawn into a thin line, and Murtaugh winced internally. "I'm so sorry for your loss. She must have been an incredible woman."

"Thank you," Delgado said, a tiny smile gracing his features for the first time that night. "She was."

"Riggs sure loved her."

The smile quickly faded as Delgado shook his head. "She would be so sad to see Martin this way," he said, then more quietly, "It breaks my heart."

"He's made some progress already since he got here," Maureen said, resting a hand lightly on Delgado's shoulder. "We'll get him better. Now why don't you sit down right here next to Detective Murtaugh. I'll go see if I can't figure out anything else about his condition."

Roger sat, gesturing to the chair next to him, smiling at the older man as he sat down. "You know, your being Riggs' father in law explains a lot of things," he said.

"Like how he didn't get fired after his first day?" Delgado asked, shaking his head. "He always was a little reckless, but Miranda helped temper it. And he brought the best out in her, too. I've never seen her laugh so often." He paused and took his glasses off, then rubbed at his temples.

"I hoped that working on the force would help Martin cope," he said after a minute. "I knew he'd go crazy if he didn't have something to do, and he's always been in the military or part of the police, so when he brought up moving out here, I thought it might bring some normalcy to his life. Now I'm concerned he's using it as a way to get himself killed."

Roger exhaled loudly. "That thought's crossed my mind," he said finally. "But I think Maureen is right, about making progress. Don't get me wrong, Riggs is still batshit crazy, but I think we've made some kind of connection, you know? I don't know if that will be enough, but I hope so. I've gotten kind of used to having him around."

Delgado chuckled at that and nodded. "Can't say I blame you," he said.

"Hey," Maureen said, walking back over. "The nurse said they're just closing him up and the doctor will be out in a few minutes to talk to us. They'll take him to recovery initially, and then to the ICU."

"Oh, thank God," Roger murmured, exhaling in relief. It felt as if a massive weight had been removed from his shoulders and the sudden release was liberating.

"I'll go tell the others," Cahill said, already heading towards the other officers gathered in the waiting room. Roger was a bit touched to see that a good seven or eight men had stayed the whole time; Martin hadn't been with the LAPD long, but he'd already made an impression.

The doctor came over only a few minutes later, an older man with silver hair and wrinkles around his eyes.

"You're here for Martin Riggs?" He also had a thick southern accent, not unlike Riggs' own, and Roger immediately felt more at ease.

"We are," Roger said.

"I'm Dr. Ashbaugh, one of the surgeons who worked on your friend," the doctor said. "He's doing about as well as could be expected right now; he made it through surgery, but he's sustained a pretty serious wound. We patched up his lung and a major blood vessel that got severed, and we'll be keeping an eye on the lung for a little while. The bullet also broke a few ribs here, and they went through to the back as well.." He gestured to the front of his own ribcage and then around to the back, and grimaced. "Breathing is going to be pretty unpleasant for a while, so initially we'll give him an epidural to help manage the pain."

"But overall, you expect him to make it?" Roger asked, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt. Ashbaugh smiled.

"Yes, we do. He's stable right now, and of course there is always the risk of complications, but right now things are looking promising. Detective Riggs is going to be in for a long recovery, though; the next few days will be painful, and he's going to be weak and sick from blood loss. He'll also have to do respiratory therapy, to try to get his lung function back up to normal."

"And what kinds of complications are we worried about?" Delgado asked.

"The biggest ones are pneumonia and infection at this point. We did our best to irrigate the wound, but there's always that chance, so we've got him on some strong antibiotics. As far as the pneumonia, we'll try to extubate him quickly, preferably within the next twelve hours, and then we'll get him up and moving as soon as we can." Dr. Ashbaugh stopped talking and looked around at the motley group of people Riggs had drawn to him. "Do you have any other questions for me?"

"I don't - I don't think so," Murtaugh said. "You guys?" Cahill and Delgado both shook their heads, so Murtaugh shrugged. "I guess we're good. Thank you doctor, for everything you did for Riggs tonight."

Ashbaugh smiled. "You know, that bullet missed his heart by only a couple of inches, and when he got in here the pneumothorax was already starting to impede his cardiac function. But, he remained remarkably stable through the whole surgery and came through as well as anyone could have. We were expecting a much worse outcome, to be frank."

"Yeah, well," Roger said, "he's a fighter." Only minutes ago, that thought would have been nothing more than an attempt at comfort, but now Roger said it without doubt.

"I believe it," Ashbaugh said. "As soon as he's settled in the ICU, one of you can sit with him for a few minutes. He won't be conscious, but it never hurts to have family around."

Roger looked to Delgado and nodded, but the older man shook his head and reached for Roger's hand, clasping it in his own. "He would want you there," he said. Roger swallowed thickly, feeling tears pricking at his eyes for the first time since his rush to to the hospital. It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

"Alright," Murtaugh said. "I guess I'll go sit with him."

A nurse named David led him to Riggs' room, a small space with glass walls and a nurse's station just outside.

"He's still intubated and he's going to look a little swollen from all the fluids we've pumped into him," David said, "but he's doing really well."

"Thanks," Roger said, and swallowed. _Everything was going to be okay._

"And here are his belongings," David said, holding out a plastic bag. "I know you guys probably need this for processing."

Roger took the bag numbly, having just caught sight of his partner for the first time.

Martin really did look like shit. He had stitches in a couple of spots on his face, and a tube protruded from his mouth. His chest was heavily bandaged and a tube ran out from between a few ribs on the left side; that part was enough to make Roger feel nauseated, so he quickly looked back to Martin's face. It was swollen and pale, but it was definitely still Riggs, stupid mustache and floppy hair and all.

Roger slipped into the chair next to the bed and tucked one of Martin's curls back so that it wasn't hanging in his face. "You get shot all to hell and somehow your mustache still survives," he said, settling back in his seat. "You got some damn luck."

Watching the heart monitor moving steadily, he said thoughtfully, "Or some kind of guardian angel." He carefully extracted Riggs' wallet from the bag David had handed him, pretending not to notice the blood-stained clothing. Flipping it open, Roger rifled quickly through the contents and found what exactly what he had expected to. Nearly everything in the wallet was crumpled and haphazard, but in the billfold was a pristine picture of a smiling woman with dark hair, waving playfully at the camera. Roger set it on Riggs' pillow next to his head, then leaned back in his chair, and waited.


End file.
